


Thunderbirds Are Go – ‘Toil and Tub-ble’

by countessofsnark



Series: Ridley & John [4]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 03:25:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15379620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countessofsnark/pseuds/countessofsnark





	Thunderbirds Are Go – ‘Toil and Tub-ble’

‘John, sitting in a tub is not bathing. One usually adds water. And removes clothes.’

‘Well there’s water vapour around. That counts right?’

John did not look up. He didn’t have to after that last remark, he could practically feel Ridley’s stare of disapproval boring into his back.

‘John’, Ridley said behind gritted teeth,’ I’m going to ask you one more time: get out of the bath, take your goddamn clothes off, and get some water running.’

‘No.’

Ridley’s clenched fists almost drew blood. She let out a sound that was halfway between a sigh of despair and a scream into the void.

Next thing John knew, cold water came raining down on him as Ridley had turned on the shower part of her queen sized bath tub. John yelped and got up, but it was too late. His clothes were drenched, his floppy hair now sticking to his forehead. His eyes had become slits through which he squinted a look of betrayal in Ridley’s direction. A smug smirk had formed around the latter’s lips. 

‘Well now,’ she said while John hugged himself in a futile attempt to stay warm. ‘Better get those wet things off, and get you warmed up again. And lucky for you, I know just the remedy for that.’

John’s defences had been dented but not broken entirely. He began to pout and continued to squint at her like a scorned puppy. Ridley tried not to let this foul tactic get to her as she removed layer after layer of sticky, wet clothing. Meanwhile, hot water and bubbles were filling the large tub. When he was left standing in a pair of black boxers, she turned her back and looked away from the mirror above the wash-stand. John handed her his crumpled boxers, and watched her fold them lovingly, her fingers running across the fabric before she put them on the towel rack. She proceeded to dip a hand into the luxurious layer of foam.

‘Perfect. Go on, then. Get in there.’

John did as he was told, feeling somewhat grateful for her turning away until he had settled inside the bubble prison. His arms and legs were crossed (and even in that position the tub suddenly seemed way too tiny to hold his tall frame) and he was staring into space, still pouting.

‘Isn’t this nice?’ Ridley said, barely able to stifle an amused chuckle.

When her question failed to elicit a response, she decided to move on to plan B. 

‘How about a massage?’

John turned towards her, eyes wide open. 

‘I… I would like that, yes.’

_Bingo._

She’d first given him a taste of her superior massaging skills after a round of zero G handball. He had almost dislocated his shoulder trying to keep her from scoring and she’d nursed the pain away with some focused kneading and pinching.

Ridley began to strip, noticing how John struggled not to look at her. She slipped into the bubbles behind him, stretching out her legs to provide support.  
‘Let’s get you comfy, shall we?’ she purred into his ear. She could tell he was blushing fiercely. 

Her hands dug into his shoulders, massaging the tense muscles. Before long, she felt him relaxing – at last! – as his head tilted back. He moaned approvingly as she switched up the intensity of her massaging technique. Ridley had to force herself to stay focused. She wanted to nib at his earlobes, let her hands slide down his front, maybe way down towards…

_No, don’t even think about it. All in good time, Ridley._

She continued to knead until she felt her fingers cramp up. As soon as she let go of his shoulders, however, John slipped further into the water, letting his weight rest on her body. She hooked her arms around his chest to keep herself from going under. 

‘Dammit, Ridley. You were right after all,’ John said in a deliciously husky voice. ‘This is lovely. We should do this again.’

‘I’m glad you see the error of your ways, John Tracy,’ she grinned.

That night, Ridley lay in bed cradling a long-limbed ginger pup, her hand running through his hair until sleep came to fetch her.


End file.
